


Creature Comforts

by Eryn, rerumfragmenta



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, de-facto slavery, dehumanisation of the Charge, implied torture in the name of behaviour readjustment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn/pseuds/Eryn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rerumfragmenta/pseuds/rerumfragmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James was once Tracy’s Charge, but when he finally convinced her to marry him, she was killed by a rogue Charge. After that he was passed from Handler to Handler but he just keeps getting rid of them.</p><p>Q meanwhile is a top student who just graduated from the Handler’s Academy. He expected to get a newbie Charge to learn with, but instead he got the incomparable James Bond.</p><p>Neither quite knows what to do with the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Handler's Handbook Rule No. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 00Qbigbang with art by the lovely rerumfragmenta and beta done by insatiablyyours :D  
> Much thanks go to Interrosand who gave much valuable feedback to put the story into this final shape ♥
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** This story is a work of fiction based on another work of fiction based on a fictional story. I don’t intend to make any money with it.

_Handler's Handbook Rule No. 1:  
The Charge wants to be cared for by its Handler._

"So I heard you're getting a new Handler today," Alec Trevelyan said, glancing over at his friend James Bond and taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Yes,” James agreed. “The last one, Sabrina, was retired while we stayed in Singapore.” He stared up unblinking at the clear afternoon sky above the MI6 compound in inner London.

"I hope you didn't feed your Handler to the sharks again," Alec said with a grin, but James shook his head.

"I did no such thing. She just didn't take well to the local cuisine," he returned evenly, giving no hint of whether or not he’d had something to do with the woman’s demise.

"You can't keep offing your Handlers, James," Alec warned nonetheless, though he was still smiling at his friend. "You’ve been at it for two years now and if you keep it up they'll stop trying to find you one."

"Good,” Bond returned grimly, not interested in returning Alec’s teasing in kind. “Then I won’t have to keep thinking of ways to get rid of them.”

"Nonono, that wouldn't do. You know what they do with Charges that can't be handled," Alec said, voice more serious now. They’d both had missions like that. Rogue Charges to eliminate. Betrayed Handlers to rescue. Even so, James just shrugged.

"Let them try. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself,” he said coolly. “In the last year alone I've gotten rid of more Handlers than enemy combatants. I'm not willing to put up with _them_ and their stupid expectations any longer. If that means they'll try to terminate me, then they should be prepared to lose a few of their Charges to get the job done."

Alec watched his friend silently, unsure of what to say. He knew he needed to make James see reason before he got himself killed. Not that Bond’s dislike of his latest Handler was unfounded – Alec would have tried to get rid of her as well. However, if James kept his current habit up, they’d find a way to off him. Unfortunately he knew that James wasn’t willing to make concessions any longer. Not that his friend had ever been good at making concessions for anyone, including Handlers. Back in the all-Charges Institute they’d grown up in James had already been the rebel, the one that wouldn’t bend to the rules - not that Alec had been much better. It was just that James had always been that small bit worse: a little more disobedient, a little quicker to resort to violence. Because he stood in James’ shadow, no one had paid Alec much attention, which had served them well. But right now being a rebel wouldn’t do. Not if James wanted to stay alive.

"Did you know that my last Handler threatened to retire me?” James spat. “That bitch said I was too unstable and old for proper fieldwork. She said that after that mission she'd have me transferred to the Institute as an instructor. Could you imagine me teaching? Just picture me in Instructor Charles' shoes," he said with a shudder. He continued in a modulated voice: "Remember, children. The most important rule of a Handler/Charge partnership is respect and obedience. It is most important that you respect your Handler and obey their orders. At no time should you work to undermine them."

James and Alec shared a look of distaste before Alec spoke up again.

"I don't think they'd put you in his position. You’ve got too much of a record. They’d put you in charge of Physical Training or something like that where they think you can’t influence the children much,” Alec reasoned. James just looked at him sourly.

"We'll never have to find out. Either they get me a competent Handler or I'm not coming back, Alec," James said seriously and Alec sighed, turning his head to look more closely at his friend. James’ expression was closed off and nearly unreadable even for Alec, who’d had more than 30 years to learn all the nuances of the other’s face.

"You know I'll have to report that threat to Eve, right?” Alec asked, referring to his own Handler. “They might not let you leave at all if you keep talking like that."

James shrugged. "It'll be Eve's decision to report it further up. And if they think they can keep me here against my will, they're fools. I've been sneaking in and out of the compound since before leaving the Institute," he said. 

Alec could hear the hint of fondness in James’ voice and had to agree that those had been good times; in those last years at the Institute, the worst that could happen to them had been falling and breaking a leg. Or getting detention with Instructor Charles. No corporal punishment, or at least very little. No bullets flying at them outside of training exercises. No meddlesome Handlers to avoid whenever they wanted to get out for an hour or two. With a shake of his head Alec chased the memories away. He couldn’t linger on the pleasant memories when he needed to convince James that he should at least give the new Handler a chance.

"And that right there is precisely why they won't let you leave,” he said seriously. “They'll just gas you in your bedroom or something. You can be happy you didn't pull that stunt 10 years ago or you'd have vanished into a dark dank cellar for retraining faster than even you could blink," Alec added, but James just shrugged.

"I really don't care anymore, Alec. Either their new Handler is worth my respect or you'll find my file on your desk in a few weeks.”

Alec nodded silently and turned his gaze back to the sky above. There was nothing left to say between them. There were no more arguments Alec could make before he’d got a glimpse at James’ new Handler – it wouldn’t do either of them good to argue over somebody they hadn’t even met yet. Instead, Alec lit another smoke and passed it to James after the first drag.

They quietly shared the smoke until James handed the stub back to Alec for the last drag and pushed himself to his feet. Alec didn’t watch him, but he could hear James walk away and step through the door back into the building. He just hoped this wasn’t the last time he saw his friend James.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silently, Q flipped through the file in front of him. The folder was a good three inches thick with yellowing handwritten pages at the bottom and pristine computer printouts on top.

James Bond, AKA 007 - an infamous Double O Charge, the top of MI6’s internal hierarchy.  
38 years old - making it one of the oldest Charges still alive, with 20 years of field experience behind it.  
Male.  
It had been assigned seven Handlers in as many months - and that was just the count for _this year_.  
Drinks - yes.  
Smokes - yes.  
Bisexual. 

One of the most effective Charges employed by MI6, going by the number of mission reports in its file. Also one of the biggest disciplinary problems the Institute had seen in recent years. For every mission report there seemed to be two disciplinary reports, though the last few months were especially worrying. Disciplinary measures now outnumbered missions 10 to 1 – they’d been on the rise ever since the Charge’s first Handler, Tracy, had been killed two years ago, and on the same day as her wedding with Bond. 007 just hadn’t been able to form a connection with any of its new Handlers and Q was sure that any other Charge this problematic would have long since been terminated.

But this was James Bond - and now, it was Q’s Charge.

Q had no idea why he’d received this assignment. He was after all just 22 and came straight from the Handler Academy. Yes, he was ready for his first Charge, but he’d always expected a normal Charge, a newbie just like himself. He’d expected one with which he could grow, not a Charge with so much more experience that Q wondered why it needed a Handler at all. Sure, every Charge was required by regulations to have a Handler, but Bond had had 20 years of missions – 18 years of which were with a Handler it’d gotten on well with. A Charge like that shouldn’t have to get rid of its Handlers in the field.

Of course it was MI6’s call what kind of Charge a Handler received, so it wasn’t like Bond would be able to influence who it’d end up with. And they’d sponsored Q ever since he’d been diagnosed as Charge compatible at the tender age of five, so he had no say in the decision either. In fact while MI6’d supported him they’d also given him demanding tasks for him to prove his competence. He’d passed with flying colours, but that didn’t explain why they’d chosen to give him one of the top Charges, and one with behaviour issues at that. Surely there were other Handlers better equipped to deal with something like Bond, because it seemed like more than a little behaviour reconfiguration would be needed before a working relationship was possible.

__**“Charge displays unnecessarily violent behaviour both in and out of missions.”  
** “Charge found in shower fully clothed. It remained unresponsive for an hour even after water had been shut off.”  
“Charge infiltrated compound against orders. Mission objective met. Charge disciplined for disobedience. (see attached)” 

Q hated the bureaucratic language in Handler reports, the catch phrases and tick-boxes, but he could read between the lines well enough. The reports screamed of distrust and a mutual lack of respect that boded well for neither the Charge nor the Handler - and that wasn’t even taking into account their ability to complete the missions.

Of course, in general Handlers weren’t taught to respect their Charges. That wasn’t what handling was about. It was about knowing one’s Charge inside and out to provide it with what it needed to fulfil the task at hand. But in order for a Handler to gain that knowledge, the Charge needed to give up the information freely. And for that it needed to be able to trust its Handler. So if the Charge managed to fulfil the objective without Handler support, it’d be stupid of him or her to punish it. After all it was the Handler’s job to make sure the mission was completed, not to judge whether or not the approach was valid. And if you pushed your Charge into shock so that it was forced to seek refuge in the shower, you needed to seriously consider your approach.

Of course the next report filed under those Handler IDs usually read, _**“Handler deceased in line of duty. Cause of death…”**_ Not exactly encouraging if you thought about it, but somewhat justified given the previous incidents. 

Q was not exactly confident, but still hoped he could figure his Charge out enough to make this work. All he needed was a little more information gathered via surveillance. He needed to have at least an idea of what his Charge needed before they met. No matter that he’d graduated at the top of his class – Q was sure that not even 17 years of rigorous training could prepare you for a Charge like James Bond.

Maybe that was what the administration was hoping for, he mused, that instead of some seasoned Handler a youngster would be able to figure this Charge out. Someone who accepted that he or she might be unprepared. Someone willing to apply new solutions to an old problem in the hopes of getting more favourable results. After all, new handling methods were added to the curriculum every year while others were dropped. Q wasn’t sure why they’d ever thought electroshocks were an effective means of behaviour correction. Or for that matter why gold stars would properly motivate a Charge. So maybe he actually was better prepared than all his unfortunate predecessors. Unfortunately that didn’t mean he would be able to make this work.

Q closed the file and returned it to the clerk on duty. Around him the other graduates were looking through their own Charges’ files, but Q paid them no mind – it wasn’t like he’d see them much after today. He hadn’t even had much contact with the others back at the Academy.

He figured that was what a single letter designation got you. Where his classmates had got names like Adam and Gabriel he’d gotten the Q designation and a single room. He had never figured out what part of his initial assessment had made them call him Q, just like he’d never found out why the rooms next to him were occupied by an M and an S. All they’d known was that, while their strengths were fundamentally different, they were all MI6 sponsored. And being sponsored by MI6 meant you had to be better than everyone else, a hard lesson they’d learnt when S didn’t come back after his third year assessments. They’d never learnt just what had happened to him, but neither they nor any of the single letters in the other years dared complete anything inadequately out of an ingrained fear of finding out just what happened to Handlers who weren’t up to the task.

Sighing, Q sent an email to the Handler Supervisor to cancel the prearranged meeting with his Charge. There was no way he could get reliable intel in 30 minutes; instead of going in blind he needed to observe and figure out just what this Charge actually needed from its Handler.


	2. Handler's Handbook Rule No. 2

_Handler's Handbook Rule No. 2:  
When presented with a new Handler the Charge will display hostility and distrust._

Q carefully flipped from one security camera feed to the next following the trail of James Bond, AKA 007, through the hallways of the central building on the MI6 compound. The Charge had made its way into the building from the rooftop entryway, so either it’d spent the afternoon cloud gazing or it had climbed the façade to gain access. With a Charge of this level both were equally likely but Q figured it had been the former rather than the latter. After all, Bond should have no reason to sneak into the building from inside the complex. Q followed the Charge through the corridors and wasn’t surprised to see it headed for the Charge Overseer. The man was the equivalent to the Handler Supervisor and on a normal day would be responsible for making sure Bond was on time for their first meeting.

The camera footage from inside the office was grainy but it still allowed Q to see a look of confusion and annoyance cross the Charge’s face. Q wondered if it was because of the unpredicted break in its schedule or the unexpected behaviour on the side of its Handler that annoyed his Charge. He kept watching as 007 politely took its leave and headed through the corridors, mostly ignoring the people it passed.

It wasn’t because the Charge didn’t recognise them. Q could see a few people trying to talk to it, their body language clearly showing familiarity, but 007 simply brushed them off and kept walking. Before his Charge reached its destination, Q was distracted by one of the motion detectors he’d keyed into his system. A keystroke was all it took to change windows and watch the grainy footage of a man coming in from the rooftop. He looked vaguely familiar, of about the same age as Bond. He was a little broader in the shoulders but carried himself with a similar style and air around him, so Q figured he was a Charge as well. He was fairly sure he’d seen the other’s picture in Bond’s file, so the two men had likely spent their time on the rooftop together.

A check of his second surveillance window showed that he’d lost Bond’s trail in one of the stairwells, so instead of tracking him down immediately he followed the second man through the building. If he was someone that Bond socialised with in his free time, he had to be important; learning more about him might help him understand 007 better. Q was more and more confident that this one was a Charge as well - common features being its looks and gait as well as haircut and style of dress. The fact that the man had leisure time at two in the afternoon helped as well. 

Smiling, Q watched this other Charge slip into one of the Handlers’ offices to talk to a woman sitting behind one of the desks, who’d put down her pen as soon as the Charge had entered. She was likely his Handler and working on all the paperwork that came with being a Handler at MI6. Bills, requisitions, missions reports, intel gathering and more fell solely to the Handlers. Meanwhile Charges were simply expected to keep themselves in optimal shape, which gave Q an idea of where he might find his own Charge again.

A good twenty minutes later Q had finally located the gym his Charge had retreated to. The cameras down there seemed to be even more grainy than the corridor and office surveillance, but it was enough for him to identify Bond and realise that the Charge had stripped down to only a pair of shorts. It was also busy beating the hell out of a punching bag.

Q wasn’t sure if this was because of the postponed meeting or just because it was his Charge’s preferred form of workout. Instead of trying to figure it out though, Q settled in to watch. He had a few hours to kill before dinner and there was no reason to keep his Charge from exercising. After dinner maybe he could get into the set of rooms MI6 expected each Handler/Charge pair to live in. Hopefully there he could learn more about his Charge before Bond turned in for the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of all the things James had been prepared for with his new Handler, getting dumped before they even met hadn’t been on the list. He’d been prepared for lectures and rules, for hours of discomfort spent sitting and pretending to be interested in and happy with this new person coming in to rule his life. He’d even been prepared for fighting and pain right off the bat. But being outright ignored took it to a whole new level. Not even Adam, the most obnoxious Handler he’d ever had the pleasure of getting rid of, had dared to ignore him.

James knew he was being scrutinised closely ever since Tracy’s death, and his behaviour right now wasn’t exactly proof of his mental stability, but he didn’t give a shit. It wasn’t like they’d ever done anything to improve his stability. So he did what he wanted right now, which meant ignoring those that tried to stop him as he stormed from the Charge Overseer’s office down to the training rooms in the basement. He got rid of all the people trailing him easily and eluded those trying to pick up his trail.

Being one of the senior Charges at MI6 gave him the advantage of an in-depth knowledge of the entire facility’s layout. Not only did he know the location and schedule of all the gyms in every building, but he also had access to all of them and the authority to kick out whoever occupied them. Fortunately for the other Charges, the gym he chose was so far below ground in the main building that no one actually used it. It had the benefit of having excellent equipment or at least equipment in excellent shape. They had no signs of wear and tear yet, but that would change soon; James had energy to burn.

The first target for his ire was actually the ground. After stripping down to his shorts James immediately went for a run. Sadly no matter what the R&D department claimed, the stuff that covered the floor did not hold up to a Charge at full speed. He wasn’t wearing any shoes so he could feel the floor give under his feet, heating more and more with every circuit he made. It only managed to frustrate him further until he decided it might be time to stop. Looking down he could see the distinct track he’d left and didn’t even feel bad about it. He mostly felt disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to keep running, running and imagining he wasn’t here, confined to the MI6 compound with Handlers who couldn’t stand him and a best friend who was absolutely enamoured with his own caretaker.

A low growl left him as he stepped up to the punching bag that was suspended from the ceiling in the far corner of the room. Likely another invention of their R&D department, but after the disappointment with the floor James didn’t have much hope for it. It wouldn’t be up to his level of aggression either, not today. Not when he didn’t even take the time to tape his knuckles or put on gloves. He wanted to feel this.

His fist hit the punching bag and sent it swinging. James made no move to stop it and instead waited for the back swing to give it additional speed. Without hesitation he once more buried his fist in the firm leather. It was surprisingly resilient so James laid into it even more, throwing rough punches and kicks.

The images that came to mind to go with the exercise came entirely unbidden. Past targets, unwanted Handlers, the Charge who had shot Tracy, the unknown Handler he had been supposed to meet today. He let them all feel his anger and he vented his temper until he was sweaty all over. The bag was, surprisingly, not worse for the wear, so James let it be and went for a jog to cool down. It wasn’t exactly satisfying since the room wasn’t large enough to let his mind float now that he’d burned most of his anger, but it allowed his body to unwind and his mind to settle again.

He left his clothes in the gym and headed through the side door to the shower stalls. The water was frigid, but James didn’t care much. He’d long ago gotten used to the fact that the administration believed that a Charge was resilient enough to shower with cold water - after all they had a formidable immune system. At least the showers were always stocked with towels and connected to the building’s laundry chute system so James wouldn’t have to drip all over the floor and dry off with his shirt. Not that he hadn’t been forced to do that before, but it was annoying and not something he wanted to repeat.

James sent his underwear down with the towels and stepped back into the gym naked. It was still empty, but in the silence he could hear a faint whirring that didn’t stop until he’d reached his clothes and started to get dressed again. A glance to the corner confirmed that the security camera was trained straight at him. He could feel his hackles rise as he realised that his Handler wasn’t ignoring him so much as observing from a distance. Nonetheless James send the lens a cocky smirk before he slipped into his jacket, straightened the cuffs, and left the gym again. If the fucker wanted to watch, James would show him what he had gotten himself into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nobody tried to stop James when he left the building. Maybe word of his mood had spread or his elusive Handler had given the order to leave him be – James didn’t care either way. The sun was slowly setting and the people still outside were heading back to the main building and the cafeteria. James dodged them easily and headed for the set of outdoor obstacle courses. There were a number of them, set to one side of the sprawling MI6 compound, meant to train the different enhanced abilities Charges usually displayed: Sight, Speed, Force... James bypassed the simple ones and headed straight for his favourite course, located at the very back of the line.

 _Advanced Spatial Awareness_ was the supreme discipline of Charges’ abilities. It was the thing that set them apart from normal humans. From a Charge’s point of view the obstacles here were laughable - a steep ramp, a climbing wall, a trench to be crossed by walking over poles. But the focus here was different, so relatively easy obstacles were more than enough. After all, this track came with the added benefit of computer-controlled surprises. No real bullets were involved, but rather stones or tennis balls aiming to unbalance you. Deceptively solid-looking stones that would give out under you. A set of ropes swinging left and right across the track, to name just a few. Touching any of these obstacles or dropping from the course would fail you immediately and force you to start again. But James wasn’t interested in passing the course or setting up a new time record. All he wanted was to get to the back.

It took him the usual ten minutes and fourteen seconds to reach the final obstacle, a wall spanning the entire track that was roughly five metres high. If he’d wanted to cross it he’d have just kept running to jump over. As it was he came to a stop a half metre in front of the simple bricks. From behind him James could hear a ball flying and he quickly sidestepped to let it impact the wall instead of his back. He could hear the machines taking aim again, ready to send another volley now that he’d backed himself into a corner. So instead of lingering and testing his evasion skills he made quick work of climbing up. The top was only five centimetres wide, but James balanced on it easily, going so far as to jump when another ball would have taken out his knees. Slowly he walked to one end of the wall before turning around again. Down below him he could see the buzzer that would signal the end of the course, but James paid it no mind. His goal laid at the other end of the wall, not the other side of it.

There were now three balls coming at him, two from his left and one from his right, which meant that someone had finally taken the time to recalibrate the computers - after 10 years of using this particular escape it was about time. But the machine was no match for James as he broke into a run, using the thin edge at the other end of the wall as leverage to jumped off the course and over the outer compound wall. James still didn’t understand why they believed 12 metres would be enough to confinde a determined Charge when the range of heights to overcome in the various obstacle courses went up to 15 metres, or 25 if stepping stones were involved.

James dropped down in the alley beyond the wall and quickly pushed to his feet. He couldn’t afford to linger, no matter how much the sudden influx of sensation disoriented him. Even after 20 years, stepping outside still came with a moment of vertigo. It made him wonder if the MI6 compound was really as much of a safe haven for Charges as it claimed to be. All the isolation and safety inside also meant that they were completely unprepared for the world beyond, which made it remarkably easy to recapture escaped Charges. Of course it also stood in the way of completing missions at times, but the administration never seemed to consider what it would mean for the Charges, for the _objects_ under their control, to smell rotting flesh for the first time when their noses were at least twice as powerful as normal ones.

Keeping his complaints to himself, James straightened the lines of his suit. He was grateful the dark fabric hid the light sweat he’d broken on the course. From the right side he could already hear the compound guards making a fuss, so he turned left and towards the maze of smaller streets. The perimeter smelled of dirt and rain, and the signs of decay and neglect would be visible even to those without advanced vision like Bond’s. All of this was good for keeping the inexperienced Charges inside the compound. Not to mention, it was good for keeping unwanted attention away from it. 

James just walked through and past the debris, knowing that he would come across people soon. People and light and the stench of cars. Moving through crowds was difficult with all his senses screaming at him - that one will brush against your side, this one’s right arm will impact your elbow, that woman wears aftershave rather than perfume, this one didn’t shower after his run this morning. It was taxing to push past all the scents and sights and sensations, limiting himself to the crawl of civilisation where he’d much rather run.

But he had a goal and he’d reach it.


	3. Handler's Handbook Rule No. 3

_Handler's Handbook Rule No. 3:  
A Handler's primary concern lays with the emotional and physical well being of the Charge._

Q had watched in fascination as the Charge made its way through the course easily. Bond had barely broken a sweat and Q was sure that, if it’d wanted to, the Charge could have finished the course in half that time. The records on hand indicated that Bond and Alec Trevelyan - Q had identified him as not only the blond Charge from the rooftop but also another Double O - constantly competed for the best scores on this particular track. But then Q’s Charge had climbed the wall and broken into a run; Q had barely been able to push the security alert before his Charge was out of sight.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ Q cursed himself as he went to fetch his jacket and briefcase. The file had explicitly stated:

_**“The Charge has a strong dislike for the MI6 cafeteria. It will use any chance it gets to leave the compound and find its own meal.”** _

He just hadn’t thought the Charge would jump across the wall to get out, but he should have preempted. It was his job as a Handler to not only know his Charge’s needs but to anticipate them and meet them before the Charge could do something stupid; like jump over a bloody wall just to get outside.

Still berating himself, Q left his office and stormed down the corridors. He couldn’t hack CCTV _and_ hunt down his Charge simultaneously, so he needed to get the information of Bond’s whereabouts the old-fashioned way before someone else was sent out after his Charge. Luckily the Charge named Trevelyan was still in its Handler’s office, sprawled out on a couch that was likely exclusively for it.

“Where did he go, Trevelyan?” Q demanded as soon as he’d crossed the threshold, eyes fixed on the Charge. It’s face closed off after a moment of confusion, which didn’t exactly surprise Q. He was an unknown Handler and per Rule No. 2 he hadn’t exactly expected a warm welcome. He was prepared for hostility and mistrust. Especially since 006 must have often been an accomplice when it came to 007’s habit of getting itself into trouble.

“What does it concern you?” the Charge asked coolly.

“I’m his Handler. Now tell me where he went so I can get him back before he gets into trouble,” Q ordered. He could feel Eve glaring at him; the older Handler was likely annoyed with the way he spoke to her Charge. After all, ordering around another Handler’s Charge wasn’t exactly good form, but Q didn’t have time to go the proper route.

“James doesn’t get in trouble. He doesn’t need you,” Alec returned calmly. Q wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the slight shake in its voice. Was this what James believed and was Alec just defending his friend? Or did Alec agree with him and so was worried what Eve would say about that? Q wanted to ask Eve – surely the older Handler would have further insight – but this wasn’t the time for it. Plus, he had no idea if he’d even be welcome to talk to her.

“Then what does he need? I refuse to let my Charge move through the Outside without the support it needs,” Q said. He knew he sounded agitated and angry, but he didn’t have time to waste on sparring. Unfortunately Alec’s expression indicated he was no more amused, no more yielding than Q.

“What he needs, sir,” the Charge spat. “is someone who sees him for who he is, not what he is. James has been having dinner off the compound for over ten years now. Even if he had no experience on the outside, no help would be better than help from someone like you.”

“Alec!” came Eve’s angry voice from behind Q. The Charge looked properly chastised, but it didn’t take back its words. Q sighed and took a deep breath, trying to let go of the worry and unease he felt. He had no time to argue, and in truth he didn’t want to. This man, and likely Eve as well, they were James’ closest friends, so it was important that they could at least be civil towards each other. But he still needed to get the information. Q summoned the last of his patience, pushing away the hectic feeling inside so he could deal with this properly.

“Look, Alec. I know James has been going into the field longer than I’ve even known I’m a Handler. But I won’t sit back here and hope he makes it back safely when I can simply go out and make sure he does. I don’t intend to drag him back in chains. I don’t even want to force him back immediately. I just want to know where he is so I can meet him and have dinner with him and then accompany him back to the compound,” Q explained soothingly before his voice turned hard again: “Now either you tell me where he went, or I’ll have to use CCTV and his tracker chip to get the location. By then the entire security shift will be aware of his location as well and I’ll have to take them with me to ‘capture the escaped and delinquent Charge.’ Do you really want that, or will you tell me where he went?”

Q didn’t care that he was positively growling now, staring down at the Charge sitting on the sofa in front of him. Of course the security shift wouldn’t even know about the escaped Charge if Q hadn’t reflexively rung the alarm, but that was neither here nor there. He just kept his eyes fixed on the Charge before him, imploring it to give him the information.

“Tell him, Alec,” Eve said softly. Q could see the Charge’s resolve crumble; 006’s whole body seemed to deflate and its eyes dropped to Q’s shoes.

“He likes to go to O’Malley’s. And if they’ve got no table for him he’ll visit the fish-and-chips stalls at the park,” Alec said, looking dejected. Q had the distinct urge to pet him, reassure him that he’d done the right thing. But that wasn’t his job, so he limited himself to words and let Eve deal with the rest.

“Thank you, Alec,” he said warmly before he left, nodding to Eve who was already up and on her way to her Charge. Q wouldn’t be surprised to find them cuddling if he came back in a few minutes. Which he wouldn’t. He had his own Charge to think of after all.

Q hurried through the corridors and down to the front door, just in time to see the security team gearing up for the retrieval. He immediately zeroed in on the man in charge, who was an old Handler with a hard face and a no-nonsense attitude.

“We’ll be ready to leave in a minute, sir,” the leader said. “The techs are using the Charge’s tracker to determine its exact location as we speak.”

“There is no need for you to come along. I will go and retrieve it myself and you will stay here and make sure no other Charge follows its example,” Q instructed, putting all the authority he could muster into his voice. He was pleased to see that the man didn’t argue with him, meaning he was already recognised and respected as 007’s Handler. The older Handler likely had more than 25 years of experience on Q. And still instead of arguing the man turned to his team to tell them the hunt was off and to double the security patrolling the grounds.

Q didn’t stay to see more or answer further questions, which he was sure the man would have. Unnecessary questions like, ‘How do you know the location of your Charge?’ and, ‘How do you intend to subdue it alone?’ He just stepped out onto the sidewalk and started walking to the left. Q didn’t know the address yet, but he figured towards the back wall of the compound was as good a direction to head in as any.

Q hadn’t been outside the Handler Academy often, and never of his own volition, so it was something of a shock to once again be faced with all the normal people roaming the streets at this hour. There were so many of them and they all seemed to be so unaware of each other and of their surroundings. It made Q shudder. The only times he’d gone outside had been during mandatory excursions meant to prepare them for the Outside. After all when the time came the Handlers needed to know what was waiting for them so they could take care of their Charges. Still, didn’t mean Q had to like the Outside. To think that James braved it alone every day. Quickening his steps, Q pulled his smartphone from his pocket. He’d need to look up the address of O’Malley’s after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rules dictated that a Charge was not allowed access to money. It was the Handler's job to handle all the funds, pay the bills, and purchase anything the Charge needed. But rules had never quite applied to James.

Tracy had thought it was ridiculous that she had to take James to every store he wanted to visit, watching over his shoulder and sanctioning the purchase of every single pair of socks. She had much preferred accompanying him to one of the big malls and sitting in a fancy café while he went and did the tedious shopping alone. After only two months together Tracy had made sure he had his own card to access his account so she wouldn’t have to meet with him intermittently and could remain immersed in the magazines she liked to read. 

James had always felt that he had every right to think of it as his account. After all, the Handler/Charge pairs were paid based on the difficulty of the mission completed, and since he carried out the missions, it was only fair that the money would be his. No matter that the Handler was expected to take care of the pair’s funds; James knew that the Handler was living out of _his_ pocket, not the other way around. Regardless of what regulations dictated, he’d never accepted receiving an allowance - not like Alec, who quietly made do with what Eve allowed him. Instead James was used to spending his money freely and frequently, which was greatly helped by the fact that he completed only the most high level missions – he never had to worry about his funds running out.

After Tracy’s death no one had dared ask for the return of the card James carried, though some of his subsequent Handlers had tried to limit his spending – not that James had cared about their opinion. They hadn’t really been able to force the issue either. 

Because of this, even two years after Tracy’s murder, the staff at O’Malley’s still knew him. Tracy had loved the place and had often asked him to take her out there. She’d been peculiar like that, never wanting to take him out. Never saying, _Let’s go there_. She’d enjoyed pretending to be a princess, courted by the handsome special agent. They were both basically government property, permitted to be together out of the administration’s good grace alone; nonetheless, James had always played along willingly, had pursued her until she’d allowed him to put a ring on her finger. And then they’d left for their honeymoon and she’d been killed.

Before he could ruin his evening completely by thinking any more of his late wife, James turned his attention back to the waiter, Steve, who’d led him to a corner table set for one. The waiters here knew who and what he was, but they showed no fear or undue curiosity, which was a welcome change from the usual. They also didn’t ask (now or ever) why he didn’t have a Handler with him, or if he needed any special assistance. He wasn’t disabled without a Handler, was in fact still superior to a normal human without Tracy at his side. And here they knew and accepted it, and let him eat in peace. They even forbade the retrieval units to enter the restaurant until he was done eating and ready to leave, which meant that whenever his locator chip placed him at O’Malley’s he could eat dessert at his leisure and walk home when he felt like it – the Handlers didn’t care for loitering in front of the door like common thugs.

James had just ordered when he heard his name spoken, though it wasn’t by Steve but someone at the door. He waved Steve away and closed his eyes so he could better focus on the sound of the stranger’s voice. The man sounded quite agitated and was apparently arguing passionately with Jeremy, the owner.

“…he should not be left alone,” the stranger insisted, but the owner would have none of that.

“Mr Bond has been our customer for over ten years now. I will not allow you to disturb his meal,” Jeremy returned firmly.

“I don’t intend to disturb him. I just need to know he’s alright,” the stranger insisted. He sounded young and obstinate and James had to admit his voice was pleasant to listen to.

“Well I can assure you he’s quite fine and doesn’t wish to be disturbed. You can leave now,” the owner said coolly, but James already knew that whoever this other man was, he wouldn’t be turned away easily. Possibly he was a new hire for the retrieval unit? Or simply somebody who hadn’t learnt his lesson concerning MI6’s top Charge yet?

“I would like to see that for myself. Now if you would kindly step aside please?” the man said, voice tight. From the sound of it he was trying to slip past the owner, who easily blocked the door. Smiling to himself, his eyes still closed, James picked up the glass of wine Steve had brought him and took a sip. In his mind he tried to imagine what his strange follower was like, besides being male and possessing a pleasant voice. He was likely small or slim if he tried to slip past Jeremy instead of pushing through. With short hair, because everyone at MI6 had short hair, even the women. He’d be in some kind of uniform if he actually was part of the retrieval unit. But if he was, then the rest of the lot was hiding out of James’ hearing range - and that would be much too far to provide effective backup. If the man wasn’t from the retrieval unit, he might wear a suit, the fancy kind of uniform that everyone in the administration favoured.

“No. I will not have you disturb my patrons. Who are you anyway to demand to know about him?” Jeremy asked, still angry but also with a hint of weariness – it wasn’t any day that someone came to enquire about Bond, after all, especially with such insistence.

“As I said, I’m his Handler. My name is Q. Now if you could let me pass, please? I’m sure he already knows I’m here so you might as well let me see him,” the man groused, obviously unwilling to just leave.

Q, AKA Quartermaster: resourceful, calculating, controlling.

James almost dropped his wine glass but instead put it back down slowly. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. If the man really was his new Handler, and he wasn’t lying about his name, then there was no way he’d leave. Q’s were legendary at MI6, much like M’s or really anybody with a letter instead of a full name. There were currently at least five of them working at the compound, with offices located on the top floor and an entire floor of the R&D building dedicated entirely to their personal research. They usually handled at least one Charge and spent the rest of their time dabbling in engineering and computer science, not only to prepare for their missions but also to bring new equipment and intel to all of MI6.

With a sigh James motioned Steve over and told him to bring the man inside. The waiter looked uncomfortable at the request, but left as instructed. James watched and waited, listening to the exchange at the door before he could finally see the man coming toward him.

This Handler – this _Q_ , his mind corrected – looked even younger than he’d sounded. A recent Academy graduate, most likely, with grey eyes and dark curly hair, red lips and a build so slim it made James think he could break him in two without much effort. Just as he’d guessed, the young man was dressed in a neatly pressed suit, but it didn’t seem to fit him well. No, James amended, the suit fit perfectly; Q just looked distinctly uncomfortable in it. James figured he’d only put it on for today’s meet and greet - which the man had then cancelled only to hunt him down here. James had no idea what to make of this, but he was sure he’d soon find out.

Q was carrying a plain leather briefcase in his left hand and James was sure he knew its contents: blindfold, lotion, band aid, tranquiliser dart, maybe a bit of rope or handcuffs. It was everything a Handler might need to subdue a distraught Charge, plus everything a man like Q thought would be helpful. Which, given a Quartermaster’s reputation, could be anything as long as it physically fit within the confines of the briefcase. Not exactly a reassuring prospect.

Defiantly, James watched his Handler approach and made no move to rise and greet him. The man had ignored him earlier and James had every intention of returning that particular insult.


	4. Handler’s Handbook Rule No. 4

_Handler’s Handbook Rule No. 4:  
The Charge relies on the Handler to provide everything it needs._

When he finally got his first good look at his Charge, Q had to admit he was impressed. 007 looked even better in person than it did in pictures or on grainy security footage. The Charge also appeared to be quite at ease in its neat suit, sitting in a not quite fancy – but still upscale – restaurant. It had a glass of wine in front of it and food was likely already on its way. Q was rather envious of how at ease it seemed to be in this environment, but he figured that was what 20 years of fieldwork got you. Q quietly thanked the waiter, who’d pulled over a chair for him. The man was icily polite, but Q didn’t let it unsettle him. This was Bond’s turf after all.

“Good evening, James. This isn’t quite how I expected our first meeting to go,” he told the Charge. Q wasn’t surprised to see the annoyance on its face. He made sure to keep his own expression calm though, not wanting the situation to escalate.

“My expectations were different, too. For starters, I expected to meet you two hours ago,” his Charge said coolly, but Q didn’t let it dishearten him. He just reminded himself of Rule No. 2 and that he needed to work through this phase and get to the trust part.

“I’m sure you can understand why I’d want to learn a bit more about you even with all that your file can reveal,” Q returned evenly. Absently he wondered if the waiter would ever offer him so much as a glass of water, but he didn’t get his hopes up. The staff seemed to be firmly in Bond’s corner and thus disinclined to extend even basic courtesies to someone James didn’t seem to like.

“No, actually, I can’t. Especially since you cancelled the meeting not half an hour before it was scheduled,” Bond said, voice still icy.

“I cancelled as soon as I was done looking over your files for the first time. I didn’t exactly plan for you, James,” Q implored. “I figured I’d get a blank file and a few Institute records to look through, not an inch of mission reports and two inches additional paperwork. I needed more time to prepare for meeting you and I wanted to take that time rather than get off on the wrong foot,” he returned.

“Well your plan didn’t work. Was there anything else you wanted?” James asked dismissively. Q sighed in return. Apparently he had his work cut out for him when it came to trust - and civil interaction.

“Yes actually, I’d like to stay for dinner and then walk back to MI6 with you,” he answered calmly, making sure his voice made it obvious that this was non-negotiable. No matter what James wanted, Q would make sure he didn’t get himself in trouble.

“Want to walk the poor misguided Charge home so you can make sure it doesn’t disappear again?” James sneered, a mixture of anger and sadness audible. Q just shook his head emphatically.

“No. I want to make sure you eat enough. Then I intend to walk home with you so I can make sure that the security team leaves you alone. Then I’d like to get a look at our rooms to make sure you have everything you need,” Q told him, putting special emphasis on the ‘make sure’ parts. “Because after that I’ll need to fetch my suitcase from my office and I’m sure by the time we get home it’ll be well past my usual bedtime.” He wanted, no _needed_ , James to understand that he wasn’t here to make life difficult. Q just hoped complete honesty was the right way to go here - or at least the way that wouldn’t offend James even more than he already seemed. His Charge didn’t exactly look convinced, but 007 didn’t look as frosty as it had moments ago, so Q counted it as a success.

They lapsed into silence and Q just focused on watching 007, using the chance to observe his Charge in a familiar setting. Bond was friendly and familiar with the waiter who brought his food. He was also polite enough to order a bottle of water and two glasses. Q wasn’t surprised when he wasn’t offered a menu, and he didn’t let it disturb him. For all he knew he’d be a regular here in a few weeks. So for this first visit he contented himself with watching his Charge and sipping his water.

James, too, didn’t seem in the mood for conversation, so Q didn’t force any on him.

_Know your Charge. Know its desires. Provide for it._

The rules were clear and even though he was also expected to protect the Charge from itself, he knew that it might need some time to adjust to the new situation. So he was willing to give the other some room – it wouldn’t do to scare Bond away on their first meeting.

When 007 was done eating Q wondered how the Charge intended to pay for its dinner. The last Handler in Q’s position had died two weeks ago and if James always had dinner away from MI6 then whatever reasonable allowance he’d had must have run dry by now. Q was ready to jump in, but first he wanted to see this unfold. He had to fight to keep his face neutral when Bond simply got out a wallet and handed the waiter his card.

A direct link to the MI6 fund of the Charge and its Handler. A link the Charge wasn’t supposed to possess. It went against everything in Q to watch James casually hand it over. Of course, Q had a similar card in his briefcase, one that was now linked to 007’s account. Still it grated on him to see James hand out his card - this card he shouldn’t have to need - without a second thought instead of relying on Q to have the card. He wisely kept his opinion to himself though and instead waited until James had paid and said his goodbye. Only then did he get up and leave the restaurant with James half a step in front of him.

He had no illusions about his position in James’ life. It was tenuous at best right now, and if he didn’t tread carefully his Charge would bolt and vanish into the busy streets of London, never to be seen again - or at least not to reappear until whenever Bond found the idea appealing. Q made sure to simply walk in silence as a quiet presence at James’ side – no pressure, no expectations, no threats. He even held himself in check when James lit a cigarette, no matter how much he wanted to pluck it from the Charge’s lips and crush it beneath his shoes. There would be time to talk about his concerns for Bond’s health - and all the other things which needed addressing - later, when they were safely inside MI6 again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They arrived back at MI6 with little commotion and James was pleased to see Q make good on his words. While James stood inside the doorway, ready to bolt even with his hands casually in his pockets, Q made short work of dissolving their welcome committee of guards. James looked around lazily and watched everyone turn to leave. The only person who wasn’t summarily dismissed was a worried-looking Alec, who’d so far kept to the back and didn’t advance even after the guards had stepped back.

It was relaxing to be back inside the MI6 compound again with the soundproof walls and strict cleaning schedule. James had to admit he hated them for it; still, with the lack of distractions, it allowed him to easily send Alec a questioning look while keeping an eye on Q and all the guards at the same time. They were leaving quickly now, chased away by Q’s stern words. Only the mandatory gate guards remained, but James wasn’t worried about them. He was more concerned about the chagrined expression Alec sent his way.

Like he often did in situations like this, James wished the myths about Charges were true and they were indeed able to communicate telepathically with each other. Unfortunately, all they could do was read body language very well. Not to mention they were masters at adjusting their own body language to send whatever message they wanted. Right now Alec looked like he was expecting to be chastised or punished – he was intensely worried and afraid, and James had no idea why. His friend kept shooting nervous glances at Q, who had started up the stairs already. The Handler made an impatient noise when he noticed James wasn’t following him, but he didn’t care. What had Alec worried like that? And what did it have to do with the new Handler? Why did Alec keep his distance instead of coming forward to greet him? His friend never shied away from contact. Not even when they were both battered and bruised and covered in who-knew-what did he hesitate to touch.

Q paired his next impatient noise with an impatient wave, but James dismissed him. He could all but see the sweat beading on Alec’s skin. His friend had always been the more tame of them, the one worried about their Handlers and what they’d think, the one that actually believed that a Handler cared for his or her Charge. Not that James hadn’t believed that as well until the day Tracy had died – he’d been presented with a new Handler before she’d even been buried.

The next thing he knew a hand was reaching for him but James stepped back before it could connect with his wrist. He glanced up at Q and wasn’t surprised to see the look of bafflement on his face. If James had been a normal person there wouldn’t have been any chance to evade the hand going for his wrist, especially with his hands still in his pocket. Sure, he’d noticed Q come down the stairs again, but Q had done his best not to telegraph his intentions and James’ attention had primarily been on Alec. Q would have to learn James wasn’t still alive on good luck alone.

The look of confusion was soon replaced with one of annoyance – James was pleased to see a bit of the man underneath the smooth Handler facade. Best to find out early what he was up against.

“Come along, you two. I’d like to finally get out of this suit and into something comfortable. You can continue your stare-off while we walk,” Q said exasperatedly. James wanted to bare his teeth at him and growl; he wasn’t interested in spending any more time with this stranger when he still needed to figure out what was going on with Alec. And he had no intention to come along just because his precious Handler wanted to change.

“I’m sure you already have a key to the rooms, as well as the location. So don’t let us hold you up,” James told him coolly, but Q shook his head.

“I’d like you to show me, so unless you want me to follow you around until you finally have to go back you’ll get moving,” Q grit out. For a moment James wanted to laugh in the man’s face. What did he think? That James didn’t have a second hideout on site? That he couldn’t crash on Alec’s couch? That he wasn’t able to go without sleep for a day or more? That he would mind showering and changing down in the gym instead of in his room? That Q’s threat had any impact on James at all?

Unfortunately it did impact him, if only because it’d be too much of a hassle to deal with Q trying to stalk him all day. Q had the look of someone who was willing to back up his threat and James was in no mood to play hide and seek with an annoying teenager. No need to make it too easy on the boy, though. James gave him his best feral Charge grin, the one he’d spent years perfecting until it sent the most hardened Handlers running. Then he took off up the stairs and in the direction of the living quarters. He was only going at a light jog, but by non-Charge standards that was more of a dash, and he had no intention to slow down before he’d reached his rooms, which would be in another five minutes. The living area was connected to the main building by a walkway, but they’d still have to cross the whole central building, climb another three sets of stairs and then get to the back of the dormitory. Behind him James could hear Q panting and gasping, trying to keep up – or at least not lose sight of him.

James just grinned and sped up a bit more, easily dodging the people he came across, darting left and right to evade collisions that’d slow him down. At one point he felt something sail past his shoulders and he wondered which of the guards had stupidly tried to tranq him. He’d have to find out later and pay the man a visit.

When he finally reached his block of rooms he unlocked the door and stepped inside. For a moment he entertained the idea of locking the door again from the inside, forcing Q to wait until James let him in – unfortunately any competent Handler would simply get a screwdriver and remove the lock. _Resourceful_ , he reminded himself again. Sighing, he hung up his suit jacket and dropped his keys and wallet on the sideboard. 

He was actually surprised when only two minutes later his Handler came stumbling through the door. For a skinny kid, he had a surprisingly high endurance. Or he had paid a lot of attention to the Handler Academy PT classes. They were, after all, trained to at least try and keep up with their Charges physically. Not that most Handlers kept that training up, but for a few months they could at least pretend to be able to train alongside their Charges.

Q was glaring daggers at him now, but James didn’t really care. He just walked past Q out into the small entryway of their shared rooms, picked up his keys almost as an afterthought and let the door fall shut quietly. He’d shown the annoying boy the way to the rooms, so now he could go out alone and see what had Alec all riled up. Provided James managed to find him.


	5. Handler's Handbook Rule No. 5

_Handler's Handbook Rule No. 5:  
For a time the Charge will challenge its Handler to learn the length of its leash._

When the door fell shut behind James, Q slumped against the wall of their lodgings, still panting harshly. What had he been thinking, challenging James like that? _Threatening_ him like that. Well, at least he hadn’t lost that badly, Q mused – James had looked like he’d been at least a little impressed by his stamina and that was decidedly something. Sighing, Q pushed off from the wall and looked around the entryway. Judging by the expression on James’ face when he’d stormed off, Q figured he had at least two hours before his Charge would be back. That meant plenty of time to get a good look at everything.

The entryway looked rather unspectacular, although Q had very little to compare it to since he’d spent the last 17 years in a boarding school - and he couldn’t remember where he’d lived before. Where he lived had never really mattered to him. He had never been interested much in the Outside, or reality TV, while some of the other Handlers had been quite obsessed with it. Q had never given it much thought - how normal people lived - choosing instead to focus on the curriculum as well as all things tech-related. Thus Q had no idea what a generic entryway to a flat looked like, but he figured this was about it.

Coat rack, sideboard, shoe rack, mirror, a few pieces of decoration and three doors leading to the other rooms. From left to right those were the living room, bedroom and bathroom, which Q knew because all the living units at MI6 had the same floorplan and room designations. Of course the Handler might choose to switch living and sleeping areas if that better fit their Charge’s needs, but Q was sure James would prefer a large living area over a large bedroom. He seemed to enjoy a curious mix of indulgence and simplicity. Case in point: he enjoyed eating out, but visited the same place every day. He had free access to his money but choose to wear the same style of clothes, judging by every picture Q had seen.

Still, no matter how generic the flat’s layout, the interior decor was solely up to the pair living inside. At the Academy they’d learned a few things about interior design and they’d seen a few photos straight from the living arrangements offered by MI6 and the other agencies that employed Charges. Q was fairly sure he wasn’t about to be thrust into a wonderland of pink and silver, or into a cluttered labyrinth of boxes and cupboards, but all three doors promised to be informative nonetheless: Bond’s various Handlers had had 20 years to customise his lair. First Tracy had left her mark and even though James’ file indicated that he’d been ruthlessly throwing out everything that came with his new Handlers, Q was sure he’d find some leftover touches from those who’d passed through in the last two years. 

The first surprise awaited him behind the sliding door that led into the living room. In the back corner, right underneath the window, Q could see a kitchenette... a highly illegal kitchenette. The rooms at MI6 came without stove or fridge because Charge and Handler were expected to eat in the cafeteria, yet here stood not only a fridge but also a freezer, a stove, a worktop, and an assortment of cupboards. A quick check of the fridge confirmed that his Charge was used to dining out, but all the storage space held enough food to throw together a quick dinner if James was so inclined.

Q wondered how Tracy, Bond’s first Handler, had managed to get all this up here, and what she’d thought she was doing by allowing this in their rooms. It went against every possible regulation, from ‘ _don’t eat anywhere but the cafeteria_ ’ to ‘ _don’t allow your Charge access to weapons outside of missions or training_ ’. Unfortunately, he knew that with the current precarious balance between them, he couldn’t simply get rid of the thing without prompting mutiny. For this reason, Q let the kitchen be and turned around to take in the rest of the living area, which was luckily much more in keeping with the regulations.

Before him sat a table with four chairs, a comfortable couch and armchair matched with a small table, and a TV case that not only held an impressive TV but also a blu-ray player and a video game console. A shelf above the TV held a collection of movies and games, mostly action with a few comedies thrown in. There was also a large bookshelf that held books, trinkets, pictures and what looked like the case of a flute with a few sheets of music on top of it. There was no dust to be found on anything, though Q didn’t know if that was because James regularly used the items or because the cleaning service dusted thoroughly.

The whole room had a very homely feeling, with throw pillows and soft covers, warm colours and tasteful decorations. Q was fairly sure that credit for this went to Tracy, who, despite her other failings, had at least been set from the start on having her Charge comfortable in its home. 

In the last corner, hidden behind the bookshelves, Q finally found a desk. It was an impressive wood piece with a comfortable-looking office chair. With the desk Q also found a computer that looked expensive, but he’d have to investigate later to figure out if his Charge had got its money’s worth. Another reason why Charges shouldn’t have access to money, Q mused as he looked through the desk and noted the quality - and likely price - of the stationery and other writing utensils; they tended to splurge on whatever they wanted with little regard to the funds involved or if the item was actually worth the price demanded. James should just be grateful he made as much as he did, or he’d be perpetually broke.

With a sigh Q stepped back and, after one forlorn look at the computer, left the living room. He had two more rooms to look through and judging by the state of the living room, he’d need every minute of the two hours he’d allotted himself until Bond’s likely return.

The next room he checked was the bathroom, which wasn’t all that noteworthy. It was luxurious, sure, with a big bathtub and a shower, but James had had 20 years to furnish it. The cabinets held the usual towels and essentials and the small washer-dryer set in a corner wasn’t all that unusual. The building may have had a laundry service, but sometimes you were set to leave on a mission that night and needed specific items washed in time.

The most surprising thing was the number of female grooming products still to be found. Q was fairly sure those were leftovers from Tracy since James would throw out everyone else’s. He wondered if he could get away with quietly replacing them with his own stuff. So far Q had seen no room for any of his few personal belongings and he had no intention of living in a dead woman’s shadow, no matter how important she’d been to James. Especially since he knew that Bond had been methodically removing all the leftovers from the Handlers who came after Tracy, choosing one dead Handler over another. Q had no intention of allowing that to happen again. He’d make room for his own belongings, no matter what his Charge had to say on the issue.

The last room was even worse when it came to remembrances. The whole bedroom still had a distinctly feminine touch and Q wanted to step right out. It was quite off-putting, especially since Q was sure that the last female who’d actually been permitted to occupy these rooms had been Tracy, and she’d been dead for two years now. James seemed to live in this illusion of his past relationship, clinging to things like a small vanity table overflowing with makeup and jewelry. In the middle of it sat an ornate black picture frame with a crisp, dazzling photo of a beautiful woman dressed in a white wedding gown.

Q wondered why James chose to torture himself like this, but he didn’t dare remove the picture yet. This vanity seemed to be more of a shrine than anything else and if his Charge needed this corner to preserve its memories, then Q had no right to deny it. Instead it was his task to guide the mourning and the memories into a healthier remembrance. Maybe after they’d been together for a few months Q could start packing up the items on the vanity. Maybe he might even be able to convert it into a shrine like they would in Korea or Vietnam: honouring the ancestors and lighting incense in their memory, but accepting that they were no longer around. Perhaps James would see that those who had died were meant to be detached from the living realm instead of inhabiting every corner of the flat.

Silently Q paused in front of the bride’s picture, taking a moment to ground himself before he continued with his exploration. He couldn’t forget that this was James’ home as much as it was going to be his home, and James loved all these things – if not for what they were then for what they represented. They were things that had accumulated over 20 years, 18 of which had been shared with Tracy, the woman he was likely still in love with. So no matter what his personal feelings were when it came to their rooms, he would have to treat everything with respect. These sentimental associations were what gave 007 comfort and his Charge’s comfort should always be his first priority.

The next thing Q checked was the wardrobe, which spanned almost the whole width of the bedroom/living room wall. Despite its size the wardrobe was all but overflowing with clothes, and again Q found that they were primarily women’s items: dresses and blouses and skirts, all of which wouldn’t have fit Bond even if he were interested in wearing them. No, they were likely Tracy’s as well... 

Q couldn’t help but shake his head when, in the last meagre half metre of wardrobe, he found a small assembly of suits. His Charge’s clothing was apparently confined to one sixth of the closet and it was all exceptionally bland. Black suits, grey suits, white shirts, plain black underwear and plain socks dominated, with the only bits of colour to be found on the tie hanger. But even there, everything was of a plain conservative design, with no personal touches at all. Q’s own suit, a piece acquired solely due to the necessity of owning one _proper_ piece of clothes, would feel right at home in the middle of this mess.

Shaking his head, Q closed the wardrobe door again and got back to exploring. He would still have time to plot a few wardrobe changes later - and those wouldn’t be limited to clearing out some space for his own clothes. Maybe he’d even be able to introduce James to things like jeans and t-shirts. For now, Q focused on getting everything done before Bond got back. Quickly he walked over to the dresser standing underneath the windows. He found nothing interesting in the top two drawers, but the last held what Q assumed were Tracy’s leftover Handler supplies. Either that, or the rope, blindfold and scented oil were the couples’ sex toys. It wasn’t an unlikely idea; Handlers in general were encouraged to meet their Charge’s every need and since they were all but confined to MI6 when not on mission, there wasn’t really a chance to pick someone up - especially someone able to deal with a Charge’s hightened senses. Sometimes, as with Tracy and James, this would evolve and lead to a relationship, possibly marriage. But no matter the reason, this stuff had likely lain in his drawer for the last two years.

Q checked everything over carefully and was happy to see that the items were well cared for. And since they didn’t lay around in the open it meant that James had been the one to take care of them. Q just hoped that it was for sentimental reasons, and not because his Charge liked to play around alone – if his Charge was that stupid when it came to its own safety, Q already dreaded their missions together. With a firm push he closed the drawer again and rose. Time for the final problem.

The last thing Q had to check out was the bed, a square piece with a single mattress stuck into the corner of the room. It had a heavy wood frame and Q wasn’t quite sure in which direction one was supposed to lie in it. There were two bedside tables tucked into the corners where the bed met the walls, but they were diagonally opposite of each other. The pillows were piled up in the far corner and the blankets were a mess, so Q was fairly sure James simply sprawled out in whichever direction he preferred. But that would only work if he was alone.

As he looked at the bed Q realised something dreadful: there was no second bed, not even a fold up bed tucked into a corner, and there was no way anybody could manage to sleep on the couch. Which meant that Q would have to share with his Charge. Not that he was opposed to that idea – far from it. James was attractive, confident, and while he wasn’t exactly soft maybe he was at least comfortable. Q wouldn’t mind sleeping with him, both in person and in the same bed. He’d always known that his Charge would be a man, as MI6 only employed male Charges. It wasn’t as though the Handler Academy perpetuated the prejudices normal people seemed to have on the notion of homosexual relationships. Of course, there were Handlers as well as Charges who still found the idea not to their liking, but Q wasn’t one of them.

Unfortunately, he was sure that James wouldn’t be fond of that idea, not because Q was a man but simply because he wasn’t Tracy. It made Q wonder where the last few Handlers had stayed; they had to have slept somewhere, even for their short stays. Q figured he’d find out in due time, but nonetheless hoped he’d be able to convince James to share. Wherever 007 had made its Handlers sleep, it was bound to be uncomfortable. And no matter how much comfort he was supposed to provide his Charge, Q wouldn’t needlessly suffer for its entertainment when there was a perfectly serviceable bed that would easily fit them both without either one even noticing the other was around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end James found Alec sitting on the rooftop terrace of the residential building, which wasn’t all that surprising. Eve hated it when he smoked in their rooms, so he could often be found on the roof of any of the buildings or at the back of one of the obstacle courses. James stepped outside and walked over to him, ignoring the cold night air biting into him – his jacket was still downstairs. He didn’t believe for a second that Alec hadn’t noticed him yet, even though he gave no greeting. Just because Alec was looking out over the London skyline didn’t mean he was unaware of everything going on around him. However, since Alec remained silent Bond didn’t greet him either and simply sat down next to his friend.

The silence between them was comfortable – neither of them felt like breaking it just yet. Of course there were things that needed to be said between them today, they could both feel the faint tension in the other. They’d had a good thirty years now to learn each other’s quirks but that didn’t keep them from trying to keep the peace just a second longer.

Finally Alec flicked the butt of his cigarette over the edge of the roof and instead of lighting the next he folded his hands in his lap.

“So that was your Handler,” he said quietly. His gaze was still turned towards the city, but James didn’t need to see his face to know that there was more his friend wanted to say but didn’t know how to phrase.

“Yeah. I’m not sure yet if I find him endearing or annoying,” he returned easily. On the one hand, Q was young and impressionable, but on the other he already seemed to have all the characteristics James had hated in his past Handlers.

“He’s really young,” Alec commented, but James just shrugged.

“So? He’s graduated, which makes him at least 21.”

“And still he hasn’t seen a real Charge,” Alec added with a sigh. “He has no idea how to deal with us.”

“True,” James agreed. “But he already has a firm idea of the way it should be.”

“I noticed that,” Alec said darkly and for a moment James wondered just when Alec had met the young Handler. Then it dawned on him – his friend’s unease when they got back, his fear of being scolded, the glances he sent Q’s way. His friend had ratted him out. James forced himself to keep his body language calm and not telegraph his anger. Q hadn’t made a good guess or waited for the staff to locate him, he’d gone straight to his best friend. He silently congratulated the boy for thinking of Alec before he wondered why Q’d thought of the other Charge at all. Besides a string of joint missions and some notes in the Institute records there was no hint that they were friends. And Q had only arrived at MI6 today, so he couldn’t have seen them before, could he?

A shiver ran down his back as he remembered that Qs, in general, were known for their resourcefulness. Had Q been spying on him even before he went down to the gym? Had he lied when he said he’d only learnt of their pairing today? There had been no signs of a lie, nothing for James to notice – no quickened pulse, no looking away. But James knew it was possible to lie to him. Unlike younger Charges, he no longer felt invincible. So when exactly had his little Handler started spying on him?

“James? Everything okay?” Alec said, smoothly interrupting James’ train of thought. He found himself pulled back into the present and finally turned to look at his friend. He laughed humorlessly.

“No, everything is not okay. Did you know my new Handler is a Q? This is their last ditch attempt at handling me. Odds are he won’t survive the week, and still they send me a Q. One of their special protégés. I wonder what miracles they expect him to perform,” he said humorlessly.

“Maybe they just hope that someone with his skill will be able to win your trust and build you into something again? They know you never got over Tracy’s death. Maybe they believe that he’ll find the way?” Alec asked, sounding a bit unsettled at the thought of who this Handler was, what he _meant_. James understood that feeling completely.

“Well, all he’s managed so far is to unsettle me. He even cancelled our meeting so he could stalk me using the security cameras. I think that’s why he knew to come to you. He must have seen you leave the roof earlier,” James said, sighing.

“That would explain it. And how he knew where to find me, because he was in Eve’s office not a minute after you’d crossed over the wall. He’s quite persuasive, you know?” Alec asked and James nodded.

“He has a way with words and a good grasp at technology. I am fairly sure he has their silly handbook memorised, but I don’t think it’s giving him much comfort right now,” James returned.

“I’m sure it doesn’t. That thing isn’t written for reality. At least not our reality,” Alec agreed. James was fairly sure he heard resignation there.

“But nobody cares to tell them that,” James said. “Do you think I should give him a chance, Alec?”

“Definitely. He’s young and impressionable. I bet he’s eager to find out just how you work and what you need from your Handler instead of working on what he believes you need like your previous Handlers,” Alec said firmly. “I think they train them different these days, so with him you might actually have a chance at something lasting, a real partnership. Just watch out for the administrative bullshit. He actually slipped and called you _it_ to my face. And for the record, your little Handler got me in trouble with Eve, so you better make him work for your respect or I’ll be cross with you.”

James chuckled and leaned his shoulder against Alec’s. “So much for a straight answer.”

“If you want straight answers go ask M or some other Handler paid to spew that sort of thing at you,” Alec said with a grin, leaning against James.

“No way in hell. M’d just tell me to be a good boy for my Handler and not give him trouble,” James said, chuckling nonetheless. No matter how much his childhood dreams had been betrayed, he still liked her. He’d always dreamed that M would be his Handler. No matter that she’d already been working for MI6 when she’d come to pick him up so she’d already had a Charge. James had never figured out why a Handler who’d already left the Academy had been sent out to bring a Charge to the Institute. Maybe it was because MI6 had been recruiting new, promising Charges or maybe because she was an attractive and charismatic woman. Whatever the reason, ever since M had come to take him to the Charge Institute he’d wanted her. She’d been what motivated him to attempt yet another insane jump, just because he knew MI6 only took the best. But instead of M he’d received Tracy, which at that time had seemed highly unfair. They’d learnt to work together, but he’d still thought of M when he needed to motivate himself to yet again put his life on the line. No matter how disappointed he’d been after graduation, he still respected M. At least she’d always been honest about what she wanted from him. Even if it was stupid.

“See?” Alec said with a laugh. “You don’t want an honest answer anyway. But I maintain that you should give him a chance. Maybe your little opinionated Handler will surprise you after all.”

James hummed in agreement and closed his eyes. There was nothing else to be said between them, so they sat in companionable silence while Alec finished a second cigarette, then they sat a little longer until the smell of smoke had dissipated.

“I should get back inside,” Alec said. James reluctantly agreed. He just hoped Q had gone to sleep by now because he might be willing to give the boy a chance at handling him, but not tonight and not in bed.


	6. Handler's Handbook Rule No. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accompanying this chapter is a Comic whis is posted as Chapter 7. I put a link into the text that'll bring you to the comic at the appropriate point :D

_Handler's Handbook Rule No. 6:  
While it is the Handler’s task to provide for the Charge’s needs, the Handler can decide to what degree its wants will be taken into consideration._

By the time the Charge stepped back through the flat’s door Q was deeply immersed in looking through its computer. It hadn’t been password protected, which had been a bit of a disappointment. Not that anyone would be able to break into the MI6 living quarters but it’d still been a letdown to see that Bond didn’t seem to know even the basics of computer security. No password on his computer. No deleted browser history. Not even a decent firewall.

Q had spent the last half hour upgrading everything from IE to the word processor to firewalls. Only once he’d been sure the system was up to speed and safe did he give in to his curiosity and start looking through files.

It quickly became obvious just why James didn’t have decent protection on his computer, or even a single up-to-date software package. The files seemed to be at least three years old and had barely been tampered with since. There was, to Q’s great relief, no classified material, only mindless but entertaining games as well as some pictures. The browser history didn’t teach him more than that James had a fondness for checking out weapons websites and spending too much time browsing youtube. Everything was remarkably tame and boring as far as Q was concerned.

When the main door fell shut Q stilled but made no move to turn off the computer or hide his activity. Bond had likely already heard the computer fans anyways, and the sound of typing was distinct enough not to be mistaken for anything else. Q left the system running and stepped out from behind the bookshelf to see 007 standing in the doorway and looking at him coolly. Q was fairly sure there were a number of scathing remarks James could be making, but he did his best to keep them contained. Interesting.

“Are you feeling better now?” Q asked, doing his best to project calm and acceptance. No matter that he had many issues that needed addressing, no matter that he’d just snooped through his Charge’s personal computer. Right now it was most important to make sure James was getting used to him.

“Yes,” James replied shortly. He glanced in the direction of the computer but didn’t comment on it. Instead he headed to the fridge and got himself a beer, completely ignoring Q’s disapproving look. [“I talked to Alec.”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/907825/chapters/1757315)

“And what did he say?” Q asked calmly, following James to the couch. He took a seat next to his Charge and let him take one sip before he pulled the bottle from his fingers. He held it out of reach and ignored the snarl Bond directed at him. Time to make some rules.

“Give that back,” James growled, but Q only scooted back, putting some more distance between them.

“I’m fairly sure that’s not what he said,” Q said, doing his best to hide his concern behind a mask of amusement. He knew he shouldn’t tease the man – his Charge needed to feel safe and cared for with him – but Q wouldn’t allow James to keep up his drinking and smoking. Riling him up a bit would hopefully prove to be a sufficient distraction.

“Alec said to give you a chance, but if you keep annoying me I might not listen to him,” James groused, scooting after Q. It was interesting to see that the Charge didn’t simply use its superior speed and strength to reclaim his drink. Maybe there was some truth in the belief that Handlers were best equipped to deal with Charges simply because the Charges were disinclined to attack them.

Q used this advantage to put the bottle down behind the couch before raising his empty hands in a placating gesture. James was still glaring at him, but Q didn’t feel threatened; if James had wanted to reclaim his beer he’d already have it and if he’d wanted to hurt Q, he’d already have done it. Charges just weren’t uncontrollably violent. Sure, they were excellent killers because they were faster and stronger but they weren’t ruthless – they showed compassion and wouldn’t hurt anybody unprovoked unless ordered to. No matter how violently his Charge had treated its previous Handlers, after perusing 007’s file Q knew it had never been without cause. So he just kept watching Bond closely, ready to react in case the Charge tried to lunge past him, or decided it might be a good idea to hurt Q after all.

“Well, if you intend to give me a chance, then let me be myself. Even if that means annoying you,” Q said, hands still raised. He did his best to telegraph confidence. James was looking at him through narrowed eyes, but Q was relieved to see him settling back down again. Apparently Bond was more interested in arguing with him than using his fists, for now.

“Why did you take the beer at all?” James asked. He was sitting back at his end of the couch again, angled so he could still look at Q. With his feet planted but his weight leaning back against the couch, his whole body looked deceptively relaxed – James had even interlaced his fingers, making it look like he couldn’t react with deadly speed. Of course, Q didn’t let this lure him into safety; a Charge was always as dangerous as it wanted to be, no matter how dangerous it appeared to be.

“As your Handler it’s my job to look after you, and that includes making you practise moderation when it comes to harmful substances,” Q said as calmly as he could manage. His fingertips were starting to tingle but he didn’t lower his hands yet. He was, after all, still on probation – James’ icy expression told him clearly that he wasn’t about to pass.

“So with you one beer already counts as an indulgence?” he scoffed, body visibly tense now.

“No,” Q insisted, slowly lowering his hands into his lap before they could start to visibly tremble from lack of blood. “A beer or two is nothing I object to, but you drank a bottle of wine with dinner, which was barely two hours ago,” he explained, hoping James would see reason. Unfortunately the Charge didn’t seem interested in indulging him, or showing understanding.

“One bottle two hours ago is nothing. I thought as Q you were supposed to be astute and _clever_ ,” James scoffed. His body showed a mix of anger and amusement and Q was relieved to see him not exactly settle down, but relax a bit. “One bottle of wine isn’t even enough to give me a buzz. Comes with the whole accelerated metabolism thing. I would have to drink at least two in an hour in order to begin to get drunk, and with beer it’s nearly impossible. The only thing that does have some effect is strong alcohol. And this beer, though it might have a few more units than average, definitely doesn’t count as strong.”

Q just listened and kept himself from nodding along. Most of that information he already knew. But every Charge had a different metabolism so you couldn’t just generalise and it would be stupid to think Bond was like every other Charge. Q recognised that this was the moment that would make or break their future relationship. If he could make James understand his position on drinking, then he could at least hope for a chance to explain everything else. And if he showed that he’d listened to James’ point it’d help to strengthen the trust between them.

“Yes, I know about the kind of metabolism to expect from a Charge. However, I didn’t intend to make any assumptions based on what they teach us at the Academy and I didn’t want to give you a false sense of what to expect from me. You see, I’d rather be too strict now and ease the restrictions in the future than let you run free and then drop new restrictions on you when you least expect them.”

“And what makes you think I’ll allow you to impose any restrictions on me?” James asked. Q wanted to say _because I’m still sitting here and your beer’s still on the ground behind me_ but he refrained. Instead, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. _Make or break_ , he reminded himself and locked his eyes on James’. He did his best to telegraph calm and understanding, hoping deeply that Bond would accept this, _accept him_.

“I have no ulterior motivations. I don’t expect you to be or become anything you aren’t. I don’t intend to harm you. All I am hoping for is a good working relationship that’ll allow both of us to work at optimum efficiency. Yes, our definitions of what is necessary for that efficiency may vary, but then, you are a Charge and I’m a Handler, so we are bound to disagree on some things. But if we both give this a chance, we’ll be able to build a partnership instead of becoming a pair of adversaries,” Q said, and then waited with bated breath for James to say something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James watched Q closely, all his senses aimed at the Handler who was trying to appear confident but non-threatening. He had to admit that what Q was saying had its appeal. It wasn’t as if James wanted to be alone... No, he’d enjoyed his time with Tracy, and he was envious of what Alec and Eve had. Still, Q was more of an idealistic teenager than a real partner and no matter how nice those ideals were, they weren’t reality. James knew too well that the expectations one held before graduating rarely held up to the harsh daylight.

Of course being idealistic meant that Q still believed in what he spoke about. He still believed in honesty and partnership; he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to change Bond, just support him. Naturally his idea of how such a partnership should work was still tainted by 17 years of indoctrination. They called it classes or courses, but it was mostly propaganda meant to make the Handlers and Charges all more compliant so they’d accept what the administration chose for them.

James had believed it himself, back when he lived in an orphanage and the diagnosis of ‘Charge positive’ had been the best thing to happen to him in years – or so he’d thought. All of a sudden he hadn’t been one amongst many. He’d been the special one amongst the other children. The interesting one. The one important people came to talk about.

He’d been so dazzled by M’s warm smile and affection, by the fact that suddenly everybody called him James Bond instead of James-don't-push-Charlie or James-eat-your-vegetables, that he’d never asked just what being a Charge meant. He’d believed the stories that the Charge was the hero, the person with superhuman abilities who was sent out to rescue the innocent, defend the world and generally make sure everything was okay. As a reward for that, the Charge got a Handler: a person for them alone; a person they didn’t have to share with thirty other children; a person whose only purpose was to make sure everything was okay for you.

That belief had held even when he’d come to the Charge Institute, where it was right back to James-don't-push-Sally. After all at the Institute, everyone was special. The only good thing had been meeting Alec – at least he understood what the word fun meant. In those days they had had to share the Handlers with all their classmates. _Just wait, children_ , they’d said. _Once you’ve learnt enough you’ll get your own Handler and you’ll save the world together_.

In fact, they’d sent James out to save the world plenty of times. For his troubles he really had gotten a Handler to manage him, but the ideals he’d carried all his youth had quickly broken under the strain of reality; no matter how lovely Tracy had been, or how well they’d worked together, they’d never been the type of dynamic duo he’d read stories about and killing people had never gotten any easier.

Now, looking into Q’s eyes, he could see all his old ideals staring back at him. There was the belief that things would be okay, that the Handler could make them okay. Additionally, there was the trust that the Charge would save the day and would allow the Handler to care for it. The expectation was that care was rewarded with trust.

James longed for the connection, but he was hesitant to give himself over as completely as Q seemed to expect from him. Still, maybe it would be worth the risk, maybe he could teach Q what it really meant to be part of a Handler/Charge pair. That trust wasn’t just magically present. That care wasn’t accepted simply because the Handler claimed to have your best interests at heart.

Maybe if Q was willing to learn he wouldn’t have to find a way to drown the youngster in the bathtub before fleeing the country.

Slowly James nodded, steadily holding Q’s gaze.

“We can try it. I’m not saying we can do it, because I haven’t even known you a day. But we can try it. I’ll give you a chance and you’ll give me a chance and we’ll both take our time getting used to each other.” His voice sounded steadier than he felt, but Q just nodded and James could see him relax visibly. He had no idea what Q would have done if James had refused, but if he was being honest with himself, there was no way he’d have said no, no matter how much giving in to the last few Handlers they’d tasked him with had hurt. He was still, stupidly, holding onto a tiny bit of hope that maybe this time he wouldn’t have to hurt his Handler. Maybe this time it would finally work the way he’d always wanted it to.

“I promise to try not to rush this,” Q said. James had to give him points for honesty.

“Then I promise to try not to kill you,” James returned deadpan, which made Q laugh. It was a beautiful sight to see, Q when he was no longer uptight, not tense or insecure. Rather, he was relaxed, and laughing, and sinking lower into the couch by the second.

“Sounds fair,” he gasped out and James just relaxed back into his seat as well, a smirk on his lips as he watched Q laugh. Casually he rose to his feet so Q could sprawl over the whole length of the couch – for someone that thin he managed to take up a surprising amount of space when he decided to stretch out. Shaking his head fondly, James walked around the couch and picked up his beer. He had no idea where the fondness had come from. He hadn’t even known the other man for half a day but it already felt nice to have him around. It was comfortable in a way things hadn’t been with the last bunch of Handlers.

Q was calming down again, so before he could be tempted to do anything stupid like try and snatch the beer again, James walked to his computer. There was no reason to keep it running when there was nothing that needed to be done with it – he shut it down. On the couch he could hear Q breathing more calmly, his heart rate once again steady, and James was sure he could feel the smile on the younger man’s face. Q wore an open and welcoming expression, unguarded and honest.

Yes, this might just work out. And maybe, if this mellow feeling held out, he might not force Q to sleep on the couch at all. It really wasn’t meant for more than a quick kip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus marks the end of the story :D
> 
> If you are a fan of open endings/would like to keep the gen-vision/like the tension and possible running away scenario, feel free to stop reading now^^
> 
> if you are one for the fluff and sugar and the happily ever after then feel free to continue to [the final part](http://archiveofourown.org/works/907825/chapters/1757317) and let your teeth rot :D
> 
> Thank you all very much for reading!


	7. Rule No. 6 Comic

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to continue reading go back a chapter and search for ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ :)


	8. Handler's Handbook Rule 00Q

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fluffy/sappy epilogue :)  
> enjoy^^

_Handler's Handbook Rule 00Q:  
The goal of every partnership is happiness. ___

When James awoke it was to the distracting smell of coffee wafting in from the next room. Beside him the covers were pushed down and the mattress was cool to the touch, which meant that his Handler had been awake longer than it took the espresso machine to spit out his coffee. Drowsily he pushed himself up onto his elbows and blinked Q into focus.

The younger man was leaning in the doorway and looked like he’d just stepped out of the shower. His hair was still plastered to his face and he was dressed only in a pair of loose pants – James had to admit it was a particularly good look for his Handler, especially since the Charge’s vision was easily able to give him a close-up. And he’d seen his Handler naked often enough that mentally stripping him was child’s play.

“Get up, James. If you stay in bed much longer your coffee will go cold and we’ll leave without you,” Q called out to him. James wanted to roll his shoulders in pleasure as the by-now familiar voice washed over him.

“Yes, and? I’d much rather stay in than go out,” James returned, mentally balancing the merits of staying in bed against the merits of darting out of bed to herd Q back underneath the covers. Of course that posed the risk of Q dropping the cup of still hot coffee. James thought it was ridiculous that after two months of living together his Handler could still be surprised by something as simple as above-average speed.

Unfortunately he didn’t only risk coffee stains and light burns – Alec was set to arrive in twenty minutes and drag them off. James knew this because he’d set up the schedule. Worse still, Alec wouldn’t leave without them, so James couldn’t indulge himself without risking his best friend walking in on them. With a long suffering sigh he pushed himself out of bed.

The absolute worst part, James thought, was that he couldn’t even blame Q - this had been his idea entirely. All Q had done was suggest that it might be a good idea to train with James to keep himself in shape. James had been amused by the idea and told Alec, who’d told Eve, who’d been all over the idea. So now they went on a morning run with their Handlers. Every morning, without fail. Even when all James wanted was to pull Q to his chest and inhale the intoxicating scent of his Handler’s skin.

Be that as it may, he couldn’t help but smile when he stepped through the doorway and was handed a cup of perfectly prepared coffee. From their dining table he could even smell breakfast. He drank half the coffee and handed the cup back to Q before stepping through the doorway. He received a smile and a peck to the shoulder in return before he could disappear into the bathroom.

A simple gesture that spoke loudly of his Handler’s feelings. Q was content, and that was something James hadn’t dared imagine when this had started. No Handler had ever really been content, even with the legendary 007.

Q, however, seemed to revel in their partnership; he had a patently ridiculous fondness for meticulous planning and lived to be prepared. Their two missions so far had almost bored James – Q had gathered so much intel that he might as well have finished the whole thing from his desk. Of course when James had commented on that, Q had just replied that he didn’t want to put James in any unnecessary danger.

What’s more, even though he could do the most amazing things with technology, his boyfriend was in no way high-handed and didn’t leave the caretaker mentality at the door. Perfectly prepared coffee was just one of many little things Q did for him, simply because he could. The breakfast waiting in the living room was another. And James still didn’t know just where Q regularly got his intel about James’ wishes for dinner. And in return he wanted nothing. Only James’ trust and for him to be happy

Shaking his head, James stepped underneath the warm shower spray and quickly set to preparing for the day. After all, it wouldn’t do to miss a wonderful breakfast just because he couldn’t get out of bed in time. His Handler might not say it, but James knew it annoyed Q when James didn’t manage to eat breakfast. He was still trying to figure out if that was because Q had prepared it, so James better eat it – or because it meant James was starting the day without eating anything. Whatever the reason it made Q overzealous and snippy. James felt this was quite a shame because Q was at his best when he was relaxed. And since they’d be forced to fly out to their next job around noon James had every intention to ensure Q was as relaxed as humanly possible before he had to board one of the ‘flying coffins.’

From the bedroom he could hear the sounds of Q straightening the covers and getting dressed, so James quickly got out of the shower and dried off. The breakfast Q prepared was excellent and James had no intention of letting it go to waste and erasing the relaxed smile that was on his Handler’s face right now.


End file.
